


when no one else will

by Katarin



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Bukkake, Chicago Blackhawks, M/M, Oral Sex, Pass Shoot Porn, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-22
Updated: 2012-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-29 23:28:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katarin/pseuds/Katarin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Corey's happy for Razor, except when he's not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when no one else will

**Author's Note:**

> For Round 2 of [pass shoot porn](http://pass-shoot-porn.livejournal.com), the prompt "all the wrong reasons"
> 
> Thanks to my beta angelsaves.
> 
> Title from the Sugar Ray Robinson quote, "To be a champ you have to believe in yourself when no one else will."

Corey doesn't feel like celebrating. He doesn't feel like drinking with his teammates and congratulating Razor or smiling along with Kaner and Stals over Razor's assist. The fact that he feels that way is what makes him not only head out to Rockit, but also buy the first round of drinks. That's the kind of thinking that's going to keep him on the bench, and it makes him a shitty teammate on top of that. Corey knows he's better than that, so: Rockit and drinks.

"Gonna congratulate me on my win?" Razor asks, sliding into the booth next to him with an easy grin. Corey can already tell he's had a few, and it's not Razor's fault he's playing well right when Corey isn't, so he smiles back.

"Maybe I'm gonna chirp you for letting one in with less than two to go," Corey tells him.

"Aww, c'mon, Craw. It wasn't _that_ bad," Razor says. His breath smells like whiskey, and it's warm against the side of Corey's face.

"Well, I guess it was Teemu Selanne," Corey tells him, turning to face him.

"Exactly!" Razor says. "No shame in that. I'm not the only 'tendy he's put it past this year."

"Excuses, excuses," Corey replies, but he smiles so Razor knows he doesn't really mean it.

"C'mon, Craw," Razor says. "Let's go shame Tazer into buying us drinks."

Tazer's feeling plenty ashamed and awfully sorry about spoiling Razor's shutout, sorry to the tune of several rounds for Razor _and_ Corey. That's what makes Tazer such a good teammate, his willingness to buy drinks. Corey grins at that, even though he thinks it probably isn't funny, and leans into Razor.

"What're you smiling at, Craw?" Razor asks him, and Corey smiles again and shakes his head.

"Nothin', just… Tazer's a great teammate, you know?" he says.

Razor blinks, staring at him for a second. "Don't tell me you're hot for Captain," he says, frowning.

"What? No!" Corey says, because Tazer's so… well… he screams a lot on the bench, and he's a complete freak about everything about hockey. Putting it that way, he probably would've made a pretty decent goalie.

"Okay," Razor says. "I don't judge."

"He's a weirdo," Corey says, shaking his head until he realizes that doesn't feel good and stops. "Great captain, easy to guilt, but… no, not anything else."

Razor just grins and throws back another drink.

\---

Cab drivers in Chicago are great, and so is the fact that Razor doesn't live too far from Wrigleyville. Corey doesn't live near Razor, but he figures he can stay on his couch or something. "You don't mind, right?" he asks, leaning against the wall of the elevator while Razor punches the button for his floor.

"I'm thinking this probably gets me laid," Razor says, looking him up and down. "So no."

Corey watches him for a second and blinks. "That wasn't really what I was thinking about," he says, and Razor just looks at him. "Okay, I wasn't thinking about it _before_."

Razor crowds up against him, hands on either side of Corey's body against the elevator wall. "And now?" he asks. He still smells like whiskey, though less so now that Corey's had a few as well. His body is hot where it's pressed against Corey's and it feels good, even through all the fabric between them and the beer and whiskey haze in Corey's brain.

"Show me what you've got, Crawford," Razor whispers against his mouth, and Corey's not perfect, so he gives in. He leans into it, kissing Razor and reaching up to cup the side of his face. He wants to show him how good he can be at this, wants to show him up and make him come. It's kind of petty and way too competitive, and he feels guilty for wanting to fuck around with Razor for all the wrong reasons, but he also doesn't care.

They stumble into Razor's apartment, pulling their shirts off while Razor leads him back to his bedroom. Corey's been here before, vaguely knows the layout, but he's mostly counting on following Razor and the trail of clothing he's leaving behind. "Fuck, Craw," Razor says, pulling him up against him in the doorway to his bedroom. They're both down to their boxer-briefs and socks, and Corey doesn't exactly think that's very sexy, but when he reaches out to run his hand down the sleeve on Razor's arm, he thinks he could be persuaded to change his mind.

"Corey," he says, between kisses, fingers tracing over the thick black lines on Razor's arm.

"Huh?" Razor asks, pulling back.

Corey leans in, bites down hard where the little star and looping script are inked onto his neck, and when it makes Razor gasp and grip tight to Corey's shoulders, he bites down even harder. "Call me Corey, please," he whispers when he finally pulls away.

"Corey," Razor repeats, threading his fingers into Corey's hair. Corey leans in and bites him again, this time sucking against that same spot, pleasure curling in his belly when it makes Razor's fingers tighten in his hair. "Fuck, Corey. _Fuck_."

Corey pulls him away from the doorway, toward his bed, and then shoves him down on it. He takes a second to look at him, using the opportunity to pull his socks off too, but mostly just getting a good look at Razor like this. He's seen him in the locker room, obviously, but it's different when he's allowed to look, when he's supposed to. Razor's got the same built thighs as Corey, heavily muscled to the point of making finding jeans impossible. He's got broad shoulders and a flat stomach, toned for movement and agility.

There are differences, though, even aside from all of the tattoos on Razor's arms and up his neck. Razor's forearms and biceps are different from Corey's, and just looking at them reminds Corey that Razor spent years with boxers on his mask and that his nickname used to be _Sugar Ray_.

He wonders if Razor would hold him down, if he asked.

"Quit staring, Corey," Razor says, reaching down and skinning out of his underwear. He kicks them away and reaches down to jerk himself, hand curling around his dick. Corey's always kind of liked Razor's hands. He drops to his knees and reaches out so his hands rest on Razor's hips. One feels different, smoother against his palm, and it takes a second for Corey to recognize it as Razor's surgical scar. It's thick and raised, and Corey doesn't know if he wants to lean in to kiss it or let go and never go near it again for fear he might break something.

Corey looks up at Razor, and Razor reaches down with his free hand to cup his face, pulling him in. "Don't worry about it," he says softly. Corey licks his lips and nods, looking down and leaning in. He's opening his mouth when Razor tilts his face up, running his cock over Corey's lower lip. It's kind of a surprise and more than a little hot, so Corey runs his tongue up the underside.

He closes his mouth over the head of Razor's cock, using his tongue and honestly not doing more than teasing. On the bed, Razor clenches one hand against the bed and rests the other against the side of Corey's face. It's gentle, like Razor isn't trying to push him, and it's not really what Corey wants. He keeps teasing his mouth over the head of Razor's dick and reaches up to cover Razor's hand with his own. Then he looks up, meets Razor's eyes and moves his hand up and back, to the back of Corey's neck.

"Yeah?" Razor asks, squeezing briefly, and Corey does his best to nod with Razor's dick in his mouth.

Corey's expecting Razor to start fucking his mouth right away, but instead, he only pushes him halfway down and then back up. He uses his tongue as much as he can, trying to make it as good as possible, and then finally, Razor's pulling him down all the way. It shoves his cock deep, and Corey kind of loves how it feels to just take it. He bobs his head a little, not really content to let Razor do all the work, and lucky for him, Razor doesn't seem to mind.

 

It's not that Corey's thought about this before; he honestly hasn't, because thinking about your backup fucking your mouth with his cock is a good way to make things awkward in the locker room. But if he had thought about it, it would have been just like this. Razor's holding tight to the back of his neck, arching up just a little, and Corey's sucking as hard as he dares. It's got him feeling hot all over, and he reaches into his underwear to wrap his hand around his dick, jerking it in time to Razor fucking his mouth.

"Corey, can I?" Razor asks, letting go of the bed to reach up and stroke Corey's face, over his cheek and down toward where Corey's mouth is stretched around his cock. Corey doesn't know what he means at first, but the way he's stroking his thumb over Corey's cheekbone and isn't fucking his mouth nearly as deeply gives it away.

He pulls off, surprised. "Seriously?" he asks.

Razor shrugs but doesn't stop touching him. "I've thought about it before, you know. It'd be hot," he says.

Corey swallows but nods, tilting his face up for it. He's never really let anyone do this before, but he thinks Razor's right, it probably will be hot. "Don't get any in my eye," he tells Razor and keeps jerking his own cock, tipping his head back.

"So close them," Razor says, letting go of Corey's face to take himself in hand. He's still got his other hand on the back of Corey's neck, and Corey wants to watch, but Razor has a point. He closes his eyes, listening to the sounds Razor's making, how he's breathing and the sound of both of them jerking themselves off. Razor doesn't make any noise when he comes; one minute Corey's waiting and the next, something warm and wet hits his face, streaking across his mouth and cheek. "Yeah, it's exactly as hot as I thought it would be," Razor says, and Corey opens his eyes at the same moment that Razor swipes his thumb over Corey's cheek. Corey opens his mouth, leans in to suck Razor's thumb into his mouth, and Razor grins.

"Okay, this is _hotter_ than I imagined it," he says and starts pulling Corey up. "C'mon. Get up here." He sprawls back and pulls Corey on top of him, reaching down for Corey's cock. Razor's hand finally wrapped around Corey's dick feels so, so good, and Corey rocks his hips up, fucking Razor's fist, because he's already close. "Come for me, Corey. You said you'd show me what you've got."

Corey bites down on Razor's tattoo again when he comes, over the shoulder this time, and Razor grunts but doesn't complain. Corey's head gets a little fuzzy after that, and he rests his forehead against Razor's chest to try and focus, dropping on top of him. Razor laughs, running his free hand down Corey's back. His other one is still trapped between them, and Corey plans to move and fix that, but Razor beats him to it. "One of those, eh?" Razor says, shoving Corey off of him and onto his back.

He gets up, and Corey shrugs. "I'm also a little drunk," he says. He can hear Razor moving into what Corey can only guess is his bathroom, because he hears a sink turn on.

"Sure that's why," Razor says, coming back with a wet washcloth. He's using it to wipe Corey's come off his belly and chest, and then he tosses it to Corey.

"It is," Corey says, smiling up at him. He's glad to be able to wipe off his face before it gets too sticky, and he even manages to sit up while doing it. Razor sits down next to him, tipping his head back against the headboard, and Corey sets the washcloth down on the end table, trying not to stare. "Did you want me to?" he asks, pointing toward the door.

"Did you want to?" Razor replies. "Cause you can stay if you want. I don't mind." Corey flops back, glad for the fact that he won't have to haul himself, drunk and more than a little tired, back out into the cold.

Razor turns over to set his alarm and then rolls out of bed. He drops down to the floor next to it and starts doing some familiar stretches. "You do that every night?" Corey asks.

"I try," Razor says.

"Does it help?" Corey asks, rolling closer to watch him.

"It helps me," Razor tells him. He looks up. "I didn't before, this is all a lot more recent."

Corey nods, knowing he means since his hip surgery. He still wonders if stretching every night before bed might help his preparation, though, make him focus more and play better. "Quit thinking so hard, you'll get wrinkles on that babyface of yours."

"Fuck off," Corey says, rolling his eyes.

"I'm serious, Corey. I know Waite's said it to you already, but don't go changing too much. Don't push it," Razor says. "You're gonna be fine."

"I wasn't –" Corey says, and Razor laughs and stands up.

"Yeah, you were," Razor says. "Shove over, you're taking up the whole damn bed." Corey does, and Razor lies down. "Go to sleep. We'll wake up, shower, go for a run, head for practice, and you can keep working on getting starts again. You know how this works."

"I'm happy for you," Corey says, because it's important to him to be a good teammate. Turcs did it for him last year; he wants to be just as good a teammate this year.

"Yeah," Razor says. "You're also kind of pissed I'm getting so many starts. Congratulations, you're a human fucking being and a competitive one too." Razor rolls toward him, leans in and kisses him hard. "I like it, in a teammate, in the sack, whatever. It makes it better."

Corey kisses back, pulling him in. "Wait," he says, when they pull away. "You wanna do this again?"

"Don't you?" Razor asks, and yeah, Corey kind of does.


End file.
